Dearly Beloved

  He summoned all his skill to bring her to the final readiness, and when her body was hot and moist and her breath rough and urgent, he moved between her legs and slowly, gently entered. She had acted the virgin so convincingly that it was almost a surprise that no barrier blocked his passage.

  Diana gasped and her muscles tightened around him with such fierce sweetness that it took all of Gervase's will not to culminate immediately. He held very still, his arms supporting him so that his weight wouldn't hurt her.

  Remembering the roles they played helped him maintain his control. "Now I would give you a few minutes to get used to how it feels to have a man inside you," he said wryly, "and for me to calm down."

  Diana shivered in delight and pressed her hips upward, rotating them to deepen the sensation. She had not known how empty she was until he filled her, and it was impossible to get enough of him.

  He inhaled sharply. "And I would warn you not to do that unless you are impatient to be done."

  She stilled, whispering, "Oh, no, not yet, I most certainly do not want this to end." Gervase's dark hair tumbled over his forehead and she could see a film of perspiration on his face and torso. She had never dreamed that his dark face could show such openness and intimacy. She raised a hand to caress his cheek, then skimmed her palm down the corded strength of his neck.

  Even the touch of her hand inflamed him, and it took time to regain his control. Only when he was sure did he begin moving inside her, exploring her secret depths. Still careful to be gentle, he murmured, "Now I would tell you to move against me as we find a rhythm together."

  She obeyed, and he started deepening his strokes, pushing harder and longer, his eyes searching to catch every nuance of feeling as it rippled across her face.

  She moaned and her eyes closed, the better to savor the sensations consuming her. For all that Madeline had told her, Diana had never dreamed that pleasure could be so exquisite and tormenting. She drew him as deep into her as was humanly possible, her nails digging into his back as her thrusting hips took on an uncontrollable rhythm of their own.

  It was unbearable and she pleaded incoherently, "Please, Gervase, please..." without knowing what she asked for. And then, just when she could endure no more, her body convulsed in a series of shuddering explosions. She cried out, her voice drowned in his as he plunged and erupted within her, their bodies joined in ultimate closeness.

  They lay tangled in each other, the only sounds their deep, uneven breathing. Diana's arms were wrapped tight around his torso, unwilling to release him even now, and she could feel tears seeping from beneath her closed eyelids.

  Gervase raised his head from the pillow as he eased his weight from her. As he did, she felt him brush the tears from her cheek. "Did I hurt you?"

  She opened her eyes to smile reassuringly at him. "No, not at all. It was just that was so... so wonderful. I cry at everything that makes me feel deeply, whether I'm happy or sad."

  He relaxed and rolled onto his side, holding her tightly so they were still joined. Cradling her head, he said softly, "I've never experienced anything quite like that. Your suggested fantasy was brilliant." He chuckled. "You were very convincing. It was easy to believe you were an innocent, until the very end."

  "Oh," she asked, wondering if she had somehow betrayed herself. "Did I act wrongly?"

  "Say rather that you forgot to act, and responded quite unlike a virgin." He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Do you think you will have to pretend satisfaction with me?"

  Hiding a smile, she snuggled against him. Madeline had devoted quite a bit of time to explaining masculine arrogance. But he had earned a bit of arrogance. "You are very cocksure about your performance, Gervase," she teased.

  His gray eyes narrowed in amusement. " 'Cocksure'? That sounds like the right word."

  Diana laughed so hard that their bodies separated, leaving her with a sense of regret for the loss. "It is quite a talent to be vulgar and clever at the same time."

  He grinned, then pulled the bedcovers over them. The fire was dying down and there was a chill in the air that they hadn't noticed earlier. Diana was content to lie against Gervase, her head on his shoulder, her arm across his waist. Her lover; what a marvelous reality the words had taken. Once more intuition had guided her truly. The thought of this joining had been terrifying, and only faith that they were meant to be together had given her the strength to accept him.

  Now, like mist on the moors, her fears had vanished, and not just because passion had burned them away. Deeper than desire lay some inexplicable quality in Gervase that made her feel peaceful and protected with him, a kindness that had disarmed all her buried angers.

  She sighed and pressed closer. Dark secrets might still lie between them, but tonight they had begun a journey together that must surely, in time, lead them to light.

  They lay languid until he said, "We still haven't determined how you are going to be compensated. If you thought that offering a sample would raise the price, you are correct." She rolled over on her back and he raised himself on one elbow, playing with her long hair. In the dim light it looked black, with only an occasional hint of chestnut richness.

  "Do you want to have all your bills sent to me? Or would you prefer to have a regular allowance, perhaps three hundred pounds a month?" He formed her hair into patterns on the pillow, arcing out like willow leaves.

  Diana felt a flash of irritation at his assurance. It was a very generous offer, but... did he assume that after a satisfying tumble, she would automatically fall in with his wishes?

  Maddeningly, his confidence was not far off the mark, but she wasn't going to let him know that. Far better to keep him off balance. "Need we be so formal? Bring me presents instead. Surprise me. If I satisfy you and you pay a just price, that will work well enough."

  He frowned, his dark brows drawing together as he looked down at her. The comfortable intimacy was fading. "I prefer that matters be settled."

  "I am not a 'matter to be settled,' my lord." Diana let her lashes flutter down over her eyes, consciously casual, as if what he did was of no account to her. "Have you never learned that with people you must be flexible or you will be infuriated?"

  He snorted, caught between irritation and amusement. "I want a mistress, not a philosopher."

  "You have both, and a thousand other things as well. If that does not please you, you are quite free to look elsewhere."

  "Perhaps I will in time, Diana. But not yet." He laid one hand on her breast and moved it in slow circles, teasing the nipple as he captured her mouth with his. "Definitely not yet."

  Diana was startled to find herself responding. She'd thought she'd had quite enough for one night. But apparently not, and by the growing pressure against her thigh, Gervase hadn't either.

  He whispered, "Once more I will diverge from the script. If you had really been a virgin, a gentleman would refrain from doing this again so soon. Fortunately you are not the former, so I need not behave like the latter."

  Diana learned that knowing what to expect added to the pleasure. This time their lovemaking was shorn of the pent-up desire that had driven them earlier, and it lasted for an endless, languorous time, with Gervase bringing them both to the edge again and again, then retreating. The prolonged buildup led to a powerful, long-lasting climax, subtly different from the earlier one, but equally intense.

  After, Diana lay with her head on his chest, her hair spilling across them both like a veil as their slow breathing matched in rhythm. At this rate, her lack of experience would be eliminated in no time. His strong hand cradled her neck and he was so still that she wondered if he slept.

  Though it would be easy to drift into dreams, she preferred not to. "Gervase?"

  "Yes?" His eyes opened and there was a very strange expression in them, one she could not analyze. Contentment? Satisfaction? Doubt, or perhaps even fear? Diana was usually very good at sensing others' emotions, but this was too complex a blend to define. She reminded herself that wh
ile sex was in some ways a simple act, this was not a simple man.

  "It's very late. Time for you to leave."

  She felt his hand tense on her neck. Had he expected to stay? According to Madeline, some men liked to sleep with their mistresses, whereas some did not. It was an individual taste.

  His voice was cool and detached, remote from the intimate tangle of their naked bodies. "How fortunate that you reminded me. I prefer to sleep alone myself."

  If that was true, why did she feel that he was angry at being asked to leave? Though Diana had never spent the night with a man, she didn't doubt that she would enjoy having Gervase's warm, solid body next to hers. But occasionally Geoffrey came down in the early morning, and she would not risk her son finding a man in her bed.

  As he pulled his pantaloons on, Gervase asked curtly, "What are your other rules?"

  Though his withdrawal hurt, there was nothing she could do about it. Lifting her chin a bit, she said calmly, "Always inform me in advance when you wish to visit."

  "So you can chase your other lovers out of your bed?" His voice was definitely hostile as he tugged on his wrinkled shirt.

  "If that is what you choose to believe." Diana felt shy about climbing naked out of the tumbled bed, but modesty seemed ludicrous after what had passed between them. She got up quickly, then retrieved her silk robe from the sitting room. Wearing it could be justified by escorting him downstairs.

  "What other explanation could there be?"

  His gray eyes were chilly and his height and broad shoulders made him an intimidating stranger as he loomed over her. It was hard to remember how close they had been short moments earlier.

  Diana quailed inwardly, but didn't drop her gaze. "You might consider that I have a life apart from my... work. I might be out, I might be busy with something not easily interrupted. If I am expecting you, it will be more convenient for both of us."

  Her logical answer relaxed him. Crossing the room, he put on his coat, shoving his cravat into a pocket. At this hour, there would be no one to criticize his mode of dressing.

  Lifting a candlestick, Diana led the way downstairs and unbolted the front door. The rest of the household was long since asleep, and in the distance she heard a clock strike three times. The deepest, darkest hour of the night.

  Before she could open the door, he took the candlestick and put it on a table before embracing her, making his good-night kiss as thorough as any they had yet shared. Her arms went around his neck as he pulled her close, his strong hands shaping her soft curves. In spite of her fatigue, she realized that if he was ready for another round, she would be more than willing to cooperate.

  Even as he kissed her, Gervase knew how foolish it was to try to claim a woman of her kind, to attempt to move her so thoroughly that she would accept none of the other men who desired her. There might be an expression of dazed delight on her face when he lifted his head away, but she was, after all, a whore.

  Even as he told himself that she was not worth the effort, an inexplicable surge of possessiveness came over him. Seeking the entrance to her robe, he slid his hand between the silken panels, low, between her thighs. "I want you to be mine, Diana," he whispered, caressing her most secret places with the edge of his hand. "Only mine."

  She shook her head wordlessly, her flawless face mysterious and unreadable even as he felt the hot, involuntary response of her body. He wanted to take her again, right there, with only the thin Oriental carpet between them and the cold marble floor.

  Since Diana wanted that too, perhaps his purpose would be better served by not satisfying their mutual desires. Releasing her, Gervase turned, opened the door, and went alone into the night.

  * * *

  Diana shivered as she bolted the door, feeling the dark side of what joined them. In her bedchamber she changed to a high-necked, long-sleeved flannel nightgown, the antithesis of eroticism, then crawled into bed. She'd slept here for three months, but never before had the bed seemed so large or so empty.

  Tired though she was, sleep proved elusive. Sex is a double-edged sword. Madeline's long-ago words haunted her.

  Diana had thought she understood, but only now was the meaning clear. Never having experienced passion, she was unprepared for its power. The night had been a shattering experience for her, not just because of the new physical worlds revealed, but because of the emotions stirred. She had given and received pleasure, and so had Gervase. That magical sharing created a closeness very different from her feelings for her son and friends.

  She desired him as much as he desired her. She wanted to yield to his wishes, to promise to be only his, to talk and laugh and love with him so that the hard lines of his face would soften into the irresistible tenderness he'd shown tonight. The only power she wanted over him was the power to make him happy.

  It would be treacherously easy to center her world around him and his demands, but that was not what she had come to London for. Diana already understood some of the complex currents that lay between them, and sensed that there was far more beyond her comprehension. Like her, Gervase had been gravely wounded by life, and he had done less healing than she had. Until she understood the origins and depths of his pain, there could be no worthwhile future for them.

  She drew herself into a tight little ball, her arms wrapped around herself in an attempt to regain the warmth she had felt earlier. No matter how hard it was, she would resist that insidious desire to surrender. Someday, God willing, she could safely surrender to Lord St. Aubyn, but much must change first. She wanted them to be equals in their loving, not master and slave.

  Diana shivered uncontrollably, knowing that it was not simple fate that had joined them, but the goddess Nemesis herself. Nemesis, the goddess of retributive justice. Had Diana known what was to be, she would have stayed at High Tor Cottage, but it was far too late for retreat. The thread that joined her to Gervase was now too powerful to be denied.

  In the days ahead, she would play the role of independent woman and he could accept that or not, as he chose. Even as she made the silent vow, she wondered if she could keep it.

  As she'd told Gervase, tears came easily to her. When she buried her face in the pillow, she was unsure whether she wept from joy or sorrow.

  Chapter 8

  The dinner hour was long past and Whitehall nearly deserted when the British foreign minister paid Lord St. Aubyn a visit. George Canning was brilliant, unpredictable, and very, very ambitious. Ever since William Pitt, the guiding spirit of the Tory party, had died a year and a half earlier, the party had been fighting bitterly over who among them was most fit to wear the great man's mantle.

  Virtually the only thing the Tories agreed on was the necessity of defeating the French, but more of their energy went into fighting each other. It was a battle Gervase had little taste or patience for.

  He was deep in a pile of reports from Portugal when Canning's entrance caused him to look up. He narrowed his eyes consideringly. Politics is a matter of personalities, and Gervase's army service and friendship with Sir Arthur Wellesley in India had allied him with the war minister, Castlereagh, one of Wellesley's closest friends.

  Since the foreign minister and the war minister had overlapping responsibilities and there was fierce, covert rivalry between them, Canning automatically regarded Gervase with suspicion. Usually the two dealt indirectly. This was the first time Canning had sought him out. Gervase stood, glad of an opportunity to stretch, and offered his hand. "Good evening, Canning. You're working late."

  Then he stiffened. Behind the foreign minister was another man, a Frenchman who was one of the viscount's chief suspects for the spy called the Phoenix.

  After shaking hands, Canning waved casually at his companion. "I'm sure you two know each other."

  The Count de Veseul, elegant in black, gave a debonair smile. "But of course we do, though it is a thousand pities society does not see more of Lord St. Aubyn."

  Gervase accepted the Frenchman's proffered hand without enthusiasm
. There were other men who might be the Phoenix, but Gervase rather hoped Veseul was the culprit. Under his unctuous charm and his air of secret amusement, the Frenchman had the audacity, intelligence, and viciousness to dare anything.

  His face reflecting none of his thoughts, Gervase asked blandly, "Have you come to work here in Whitehall, Veseul? Heaven knows we are understaffed."

  The Frenchman waved his gold-headed cane gracefully. "Work? Moi? I am a lily of the field. I toil not, neither do I spin. I leave such things to diligent fellows like you."

  Raising his brows, Gervase murmured, "You underrate your accomplishments. Surely the tying of such cravats is a life's work in itself."

  "Ah, but that is not work, that is art," Veseul said soulfully. "I am a master of many obscure forms of artistic endeavor." His black eyes gleamed with amusement, confirming Gervase's suspicion that this conversation took place on two levels. The Frenchman knew what kind of work the viscount did, probably guessed that he himself was suspected of spying, and took private, smug satisfaction in this sparring.

  Canning broke in. "Veseul and I will be dining at White's. Care to join us?"

  Gervase shook his head with feigned regret. "Sorry, I've several hours' work ahead of me."

  "In that case, there is a brief matter of business I'd like to go over with you before I leave."

  When Gervase looked pointedly at the French count, Canning said impatiently, "We can speak freely in front of Veseul. No one loathes Bonaparte like an exiled royalist."

  Gervase said nothing, just continued to look at the count. Unfazed by that cool regard, Veseul smiled broadly. "I'll wait downstairs for you, George. Suspicion is an occupational hazard in St. Aubyn's work." Touching his fingers to his brow in a mocking salute, he left.